


Endurance

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Violence and Physical Abuse, Slavery, poor Frerin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: Frerin son of Thráin has survived one battle. Now he needs to survive another.





	1. Chapter 1

He awoke to see darkness. There was weight around him and stifling heat and he only realised there was fire when he saw the long golden and red flames licking their way toward him. He had little strength left to his limbs, but he used it to fight his way out from underneath what he soon found to be corpses of those who had not survived. He finally managed to thrust his head out into the air and went dizzy as he inhaled smoke. Nonetheless, he fought and struggled until he fell from his prison, landing with a thud on the hardened ground below. He groaned softly, holding his shoulder where he had been stabbed. He froze upon feeling that his armour was gone. His hair beads, he discovered, were also gone. The silver ring, the last of his riches from Erebor was gone and so was his ear cuff. 

There was singing and weeping - the funeral songs - quiet and subdued. So. They thought he was dead. 

_"Thorin!"_ he cried at the top of his aching lungs. "Thorin, brother, help me! I'm alive! _Thorin!"_

But he did not come. Frerin turned over onto his belly, determined to crawl toward them. The closer he got, the more silence he was met with and when he had dragged himself up a ridge of stone, he found not a trace of the mournful singers. They had gone back to the healing tents and he saw, with a jolt of hope in his heart, that they were still standing. He continued dragging himself even though he could feel himself slowing with every inch. So focused was he on his journey that it was with a gasp of surprise that he was pressed to the floor by a heavy boot.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, you Dwarfish _scum?"_

He knew he had no weapons and resorted to yelling for his brother again. Surely someone would hear him, someone would come...

"Shut it!" the Orc clamped a bloodied hand over his mouth and pressed a thin slice of metal to his throat. "Oh-ho, the Defiler is going to be happy to see _you!"_

He was dragged up by his hair, still silenced by the orc's hand, and his struggles did no good, though he tried. He hoped the pale Orc would at least give him a quick death from being too tired from war to torture him, yet, as he was dragged through a small door, he still silently screamed for his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

For the next eighty one years, all he knew was pain. Whippings that tore through his flesh, hot metals that burned almost to the bone, slashes across whatever meaty parts of his skeletal body the orcs and evil Menfolk could find so that hot, thick blood oozed down his legs, chest and face, the tearing out of whatever hair attempted to grow no matter where from and - well, there were some parts of the abuse he couldn't bear to think about.  
  
In time, the faces of his cousins, his grandparents, his friends, his aunts, his uncles, even his siblings and parents started to fade and get muddled. He used to cry for them, but now he knew they would never come for him. After all, they hadn't come for him the day the orc had dragged him to the Defiler. He'd been dragged around Arda for the rest of his life, taken to people of all races to use as they would.  
  
"The son of Thráin, the son of the great King Thrór!" The Defiler would announce, leering at him with a jagged grin on his pale face. "See for yourself if his royal blood truly is blue!"  
  
It wasn't. It was red like garnet and years of it stuck to his once tanned skin, making him look dark in colour, bringing out the green in his naturally hazel eyes.  
  
Now, he was before a Man. A tall, thin middle aged Man with hard eyes, a thin mouth and two strong brawny sons on either side.  
  
"Hmm," said the Man. "Is it obedient?"  
  
The Defiler wasn't with him. He'd been sent to this Man who supposedly had a great amount of money to pay for a broken yet strong 'servant', though Frerin suspected it was more like slavery. He did not dare to hope for a better life.  
  
"Filth, hold out your hand." The orc with Frerin ordered.  
  
Frerin did so, already blanking his mind for whatever was to come. His palm was littered with burns and scars underneath the thick blackened blood, but his hand was turned over. The orc gazed over the nails which were just growing back from being ripped out in the past and selected the longest with an order of, "Don't move!"  
  
It was quick and his finger bled, but Frerin was hardly new to the act and didn't even shed a tear. The Man looked approving. "Good," he said. "Very submissive. Four bags of gold as promised. Boys!"  
  
His four sons passed over four sacks, fat with their treasure. The orc attached them to his horse and pointed Frerin over to the Man. Frerin went to him, looking at the floor as he had learned.  
  
"Get in the wagon." The Man said. "There's a bucket of water in there for drinking."  
  
He did, only really half-listening. Gold, gold, Grandfather had loved gold. No, no, he couldn't think of his lost kin, the ones who had abandoned him to this fate. How could they not have heard his cries for help, seen the orc dragging him into Moria? They had left him without even a backward glance. They had.  
  
He had never mattered to them. Thorin the firstborn, Dís the princess, they had mattered and looked like siblings with their blue eyes, though he and Dís had shared the long brown hair. Had. His hair seemed to have stopped growing. He noticed the wagon had a cage built onto it. Of course. Couldn't risk the cargo escaping.  
  
One of the Man's sons came to him, holding a strip of cloth. "Wrap that around yerself," he grunted. "Yer finger, I mean."  
  
It was clean, surprisingly so, and it stopped the bleeding. He nodded a thank you and leaned against the bars, glad of the rest, for he had walked a good hundred miles with little rest to meet his new captors. Though they seemed more caring than the orcs, he didn't let himself get hopeful. They could change and be cruel at any moment, he knew. Not so long ago, there had been a Man who'd wanted his company for the night. He'd been so attentive, so careful and then the warmth had turned cold and he'd been pinned beneath him, wincing as the Man forced himself inside painfully. He'd not been able to walk for three days after. Not that that occasion had been his first - no, no, he couldn't think of that either. He couldn't.  
  
"We're goin' Westward," said the Man's son who'd gifted him the bandage. "See if we can get an 'igh enough bidder for yer. Got a few days, mind, so get some rest, alrigh'."  
  
Frerin nodded.  
  
The Man's son sighed. "Fuck's sake, answer proper! Yer allowed to talk to us, ye' stupid cunt."  
  
"I'm very sorry."  
  
"Alrigh', alrigh', just don't forget."  
  
That was about it for conversation. He slept for longer than he had in years and awoke to a pain in his finger, a reminder of his cost. He didn't dare look. They had stopped and one of the Menfolk had shoved a thin, but warm blanket in the wagon and he was brought a rabbit. It was hot, it was meat and it was a whole rabbit and he stared at it with tears of joyous disbelief before looking at the one, the patriarch of the Men, who had brought it to him for confirmation.  
  
"Yes, that's for you. We need you with a bit more energy if we're to sell you."  
  
"Thank you," Frerin said, the words alien to his mouth. "Oh, thank you!"  
  
"It's just food and there's plenty of rabbits to hunt."  
  
Maybe so, but Frerin had lived off nothing but stale bread and the occasional rotten cabbage. This was the most delicious thing he'd eaten in nearly a century and he seasoned it with the salt from his tears as he savoured it. He was full, he was warm, he had clean water and he was the happiest he'd been since before the war for Moria. How happy he was with the simplest of things. How strange his grandfather would think him. But it didn't matter. Despite his misgivings, he couldn't help but feel a tiny piece of hope for his future.

* * *

  
  
Twelve children meant loud noises were a given. Indeed, Gerontius thought it suspicious if there hadn't been bumps, bangs, yells, squabbles and Yavanna knew what going on. He stretched luxuriously in his armchair. He and Adamanta had nearly done their time, their youngest son already eighteen and trying to grow up, bless his sweet heart, and his eldest daughter twenty eight and a grown adult in no less than five years! Five years! He could still remember trying to cuddle the lot of them on his knee and now none of them would fit. How time flew. He heard the rapid pattering of feet, his eldest daughter's steps and grinned to himself.  
  
"What are you after, girlie?"  
  
"Papa, Mira's a real pig! Guess what she did!"  
  
Mira had a mischievous streak about six feet long and twice as wide. Gerontius wondered what she had done now. "What, my sweet sunbeam?" He stood from his chair as he always did when his children came to him with troubles, no matter how small.  
  
"She gave your grandson my purse and told him it was full of treasure. I earned that helping at the Green Dragon and he's hidden it somewhere! I'm going to kill that little witch, I really am! It's the Summer Market today!"  
  
So it was. He'd seen so many, he'd forgotten the importance. "I know you're cross and you are right to be, but your mother might be unhappy if you kill her daughter. Here, take the safe key, take what you want, and your sister can repay us both."  
  
"I've half a mind to empty it out. Oh, Papa, you don't have to do this for me."  
  
"I certainly do, my sunbeam. Today is such a beautiful day, far too lovely to be cooped up inside. I only ask that you don't empty it out."  
  
Belladonna smiled. "I won't. I'm not cross with _him,_ you know, I just wish she'd stop being so wicked at times!"  
  
"I'll talk with her." Gerontius promised. "Now, get out and don't come back unless your heart is warm and your belly full."  
  
"I come back home for those." Belladonna said warmly.  
  
Gerontius blinked. "Get out, you devil. You'll set me right off."  
  
She grinned and stood on her tiptoes to hug him, her golden curls soft and thick against his cotton shirt. He smiled to remember Adamanta's hope for a daughter, despite swearing she would love their ninth even if it was another "dratted boy". Two more daughters and a final son had followed. He hugged her tighylu and then kissed her head. "Off you go, my girlie."

She obeyed (for once) and he went to make himself and his wife who was no doubt bustling about somewhere mending or cleaning or tidying or gardening, a mug of tea. He found her in the kitchen.  
  
"My perfect daff'!" He exclaimed. "What are you making me?"  
  
Adamanta, who looked rather daffodil-like in her pale yellow blouse and bright yellow skirt edged with pale green flowers. Her curly hair was more silver than gold nowadays, but she wore it in pigtails as Mirabella did. "I'm preparing my own dinner," she said, a smile plumpening her rosy cheeks. "You can cook yours _and_ the children's, yourself!"  
  
"And deny them the privilege of your cooking?"  
  
She was barely bothering now to hide her smile. "Yes. Did Bella find you?"  
  
"She did and I gave her the safe key. I don't know where Mira gets it from-"  
  
"You."  
  
"Me?" Gerontius exclaimed. "My dear, you can't be serious! I have never played a joke or trick in my 90 years of life-"  
  
"I suppose it wasn't _you_ who put the itching powder in my knicker drawer," Adamanta said bluntly.  
  
"I much prefer you without them, my dear."  
  
Adamanta spluttered. "You are terrible!"  
  
"You love me regardless, though, don't you?"  
  
She looked toward him and smiled, her blue eyes filled with the love that he felt for her everyday. "Yes."

* * *

  
They were in a very green, very warm, very flowery, very hilly country. There were doors and windows in some of these hills and Frerin stared in wonder at the sight of strange curly-haired, barefooted creatures. They dressed strangely too, and stared at him as though he had nine heads.  
  
The wagon stopped and Frerin heard one of the Menfolk mutter, "plenty to be made of these feeble-minded folk. Got gold 'oled up in their 'omes."  
  
"Ladies and gents," bellowed the eldest son. "I 'ave 'ere, a son of a mad prince, the descendent of a soulless King, but 'e is strong, 'e is obedient and 'e is yours for six bags of gold. No more lightin' yer own fires, no more cookin' yer own nosh, no more lonely nights if ye catch my meanin'-"  
  
"You filthy scumbags!"  
  
He jolted. He hadn't heard a woman's voice in over eighty years. Unbidden memories of his mother singing to him, holding him, loving him came and he closed his eyes.  
  
Through the horrified crowd came the owner of the voice. She was young, much younger than him, and there was fury in her light eyes, even her golden curls were alight. "Look at the _state_ of him! What have you _done_ to him??"  
  
"Yer right, yeah. Alright, tell ye what, ye can have him for four bags o' gold."  
  
"He's a living being! Unhand him _now!"_  
  
"He's property."  
  
She stared unwaveringly at him. Finally, she reached into her pocket and brought out three bags which clinked sharply. "This is all I have."  
  
"Sorry, darlin'."  
  
Minutes blurred by. There was movement and another of the strange creatures came. A male and he stood by the woman who'd made a bid for him. He passed her a bag, murmured something silent and smiled rather gently at her before taking his leave. This time her payment was accepted. The wagon was opened and he was shoved at her. She looked at him, directly into his eyes and he noticed her eyes were a shade of bright turquoise. His grandmother had loved turquoise. _No, no._ That was all over, she was part another life, one that was no longer his. He looked down at the lush, green grass. He had forgotten how soft it was and it soothed his aching feet. She touched his wrist, carefully, but he flinched and withdrew. She held out a hand and he cautiously placed his own onto her soft, clean palm.  
  
"Hold my hand," she said.  
  
His feet hurt with every step, but he said nothing, did not accidentally squeeze her delicate hand in pain, did not flinch or wince or whimper.  
  
Would she beat him? Was he doing anything wrong? Where were they going? He tried to blank his mind again, but there were so many thoughts in his head which ached even though he'd had more sleep than he had for the past eighty one years. At the very least, she couldn't fuck him like some had.  
  
They passed more of the hills with windows. Curtain twitched, eyes looked out and he was certain he heard whispers and stayed close to his new mistress. It was only when they started walking down a stone path that he realised he had forgotten to bow and thank her for purchasing him. His heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice. How could he have forgotten? After all the beatings from the orcs. She would whip him severely just as they had, he knew it. She reached a round peacock blue door and opened it. Maybe it wasn't too late. He knelt before the door and leant forward, his elbows on the hard stone squares of the path. "Thank you, Mistress for giving me a home. My life is for you to do with as you will. My body is yours, my strength is yours, my loyalty is yours."  
  
She stared at him. "You are _not_ my slave," she said quietly. "You are my friend and I'm going to help you however I can. Please can I ask your name?"  
  
"Frerin." The word seemed strange in his own mouth. He had not been known by his name for over eight centuries, after all "My name is Frerin."  
  
"F-Frer-in. Frerin. My name is Belladonna Took. Please could you call me Bella?"  
  
"Bella," Frerin murmured. "Bella."  
  
"Can you hold my hand again, please? I'd like you to meet my mother. She'll know better than me how to help you."  
  
He followed her through endless rooms. He saw at least six fireplaces, countless padded armchairs, a study, even a library and finally, Bella seemed to be following her nose for there was a delicious smell which grew stronger and Bella said, quite clearly; "Mama!"  
  
A matronly figure in a bright yellow outfit wandered out. She started at the sight of him, but held her tongue. "You'll be needing a change of clothes, I see."  
  
As he wore only a strip of rather short material around his waist, he had to agree.   
  
"This is my Mama, Adamanta. You can call her Ada if you like." Bella said. "I don't mean to be rude, but Mama won't let you at the dinner table unless you're spotless..." Bella shifted guiltily while speaking, not liking what she was telling him which was effectively; "You're dirtier than an orc's deathbed."  
  
Adamanta pointed at a door. "There's a tub in there. Choose a scent and run the water. We'll find something for you somewhere!"

* * *

  
  
"I know," Belladonna said. "I did pay a lot of money for him, but.. Oh, Mama, you saw him! I couldn't let them take him somewhere and.. And..."  
  
"I know that, my sweetpea. But there are a lot of things you don't know about him. Why, how, where from, who misses him.. He's not a hobbit, you know. I don't know what, exactly. He looks almost Dwarven, but he's so thin and frail and bald, too. That poor lad."  
  
"He's scared." Bella said. "And so I'm afraid to ask him too much. Will Papa let him stay? We have plenty of room!"  
  
"I'm sure your father will. He's got your big heart, my little pea. Right, we'd best help your friend. What is his name, again?"  
  
"Frerin."  
  
"It _sounds_ Dwarven," Adamanta said. She bundled up her old maternity gown and headed to the bathroom. She wrinkled her nose. Frerin clearly hadn't been able to choose just one or even two and had, liberally it seemed, emptied every scent he could find in the tub and was waiting for them, his forest green eyes watching them wearily.   
  
"Would you like to undress?" Adamanta said matter of factly.  
  
Frerin edged away.   
  
Belladonna tried. "Do you want to go in the bath with your, um, trousers on or off?"  
  
As though used to stripping before others, he removed the only clothing he owned. They were tattered, filthy and yet he treasured them, carefully folding them and placing them away from the danger of the tub.   
  
"When you're ready, just go in, dear."  
  
He went in quickly, but his eyes were bright in pain and he suddenly hissed loudly.   
  
"Get out if it hurts!" Belladonna told him.   
  
He dragged himself out with haste and they saw light red ebbing from him. Blood. Adamanta put a towel on the floor and the two helped him lie on it. They took a flannel each and carefully began dabbing at his back until slowly patches of pale skin started appearing.   
  
Scars and burns, fresh and old showed up, too. He didn't make a peep and visibly relaxed when they got to his feet. Done with his back, they sluiced the flannels clean and helped him up to change the now bloody towel. "Do you want to do your front?" Belladonna asked him. 

"Yes please, Mistress."  
  
"Shall we leave you to it? And can I wash your trousers for you and mend them?"  
  
Frerin looked at the floor. "No, if it pleases you that they are clean and mended, I shall do it, Ma'am."  
  
"I do the cleaning and mending here, dear."  
  
"I am the slave," Frerin said stoutly. "I serve."  
  
"No one serves here. You're not a slave."  
  
"Mama wants to, Frerin." Belladonna attempted. "She'd like to help you more."

He looked at them almost suspiciously and gave a small nod. He began carefully dabbing his chest which turned out to be as hairless as the rest of him. Belladonna followed her mother to the laundry room and twirled a piece of golden hair between her fingers. "Mama..aren't Dwarves..hairy?"

"Yes, but don't you go mentioning it to him. The hair on their bodies is like the hair on our feet, a matter of how honourable or what class, something like that." Adamanta placed the small item of clothing into the washing tub and added a small drop of something that smelt very strongly like lily-of-the-valley and began scrubbing vigorously. From inside the tub, something clinked as some small object fell to the bottom of the porcelain tub. Adamanta scrabbled for it and came up with a small, bright red stone set in a ring of iron. It was rusty, almost. It certainly hadn't been worn in quite a few years. She gave it to her daughter. "Get it back to him, there's a good lass."

* * *

On the eve of the battle, so many years ago, Thráin had gifted each of his sons a ring. Thorin's had been blue and caged, protected. His was this - red and vulnerable. Now these facts spoke to him about his relationship with his father  him being the spare, but always third best. Mahal's name, now he thought back, his father likely preferred his little 'nephews', his own cousins' sons, to him. 

"Agate," he said to Bella. "Agate and iron. For fortunate protection and strength.. I had forgotten.." He sighed a humourless laugh. "Fortunate protection..." He stared at his clean hands and tugged the smock over his head. "I do not want it, Bella. If you like it, you can keep it."

"Do stones actually work like that? For protection?"

"I don't believe so, any more." Frerin answered. "Maybe it will work for you."

 


	3. Chapter 3

He'd seen quite a few odd sights in his rather long life. He'd seen falling stars, lifelike fireworks, a dog walking on its hind legs, even a faerie after a few ales. He'd never in his life seen a bald Dwarf. Not completely, at any rate. Still, it was rude to stare and even ruder to ignore someone, so he greeted him as politely as he could and went to find his wife.  
  
"Ada.. Why is there a stick-thin Dwarf in our living room?"  
  
"He's a guest," said Ada and she would say no more about it. "Make yourself useful and set the table. And tell our children that dinner is ready and to make themselves presentable!"  
  
He sent Isengar to set the table and went to get his son's sisters. Stopping by Mira's room, he softly cleared his throat. "I hear your nephew got some Dragon gold today."  
  
His youngest daughter grinned sheepishly. Of all his children, only her hair had mixed his once chestnut brown hair and Ada's spun sunshine into an auburn that could be bright and dark depending on the season. "He was happy!"  
  
"But your big sister _wasn't_ , dearest. She worked hard for her pay and was looking forward to the Summer Market."  
  
She had the Took pea green eyes and lowered them guiltily. "I'm sorry.. I just thought it would be funny..."  
  
"Well, you ought to repay her. And I've lent her some money which I expect you to repay your mother and I." At her reluctant look, he softened his tone. "You _did_ lose your sister's wages, dear. You can't play tricks like this all your life, sweetling. "  
  
"They make me laugh."  
  
He bit back a smile and hugged her gently. _"I_ liked the odd trick too, you know. Played every one in the book. But I only did ones that other people would find funny. Otherwise, it's mean in spirit and that's no good at all."  
  
He felt her tense and knew his words had made their mark. "Oh," said his daughter quietly. "I didn't mean to be mean in spirit."  
  
"I know, little one. And you're not, but you might be if you take delight in the suffering of others by causing it. Do you understand now why I'm a bit strict on't?"  
  
She nodded her curly head. He could see copper-red glints of her hair and gently tousled it to her annoyance. "Papaaaaa!" Mirabella complained.  
  
He grinned at her and gently steered her toward the kitchen to find the Dwarf setting the table and Isengar casually drinking his father's good cider.  
  
Mirabella turned pale at the sight of the Dwarf and ran to the kitchen where she knew her mother would be and Gerontius scowled heavily at his youngest son. "You enjoying that?"  
  
"Oh, aye."  
  
"We had an agreement. You cannae have it if you cannae reach it!"  
  
_"Frerin_ reached it. He's very helpful, Pappy!"  
  
"Don't 'Pappy' me, you cheeky young sod!" 'Frerin' was it? So now, there were fifteen names, counting his own, he had to remember. At least of this household at any rate.  
  
"I'm getting clever, though, aren't I?'  
  
"You aren't thirty three, my boy, you're eighteen! Fancy dragging _him_ into this, the poor lad!" He gestured to the Dwarf, only to find him upright and..more than tense. Hardened almost, as though expecting something unpleasant or painful. He cast an eye over the scars and burns, the cuts and bruises, the shorn scalp and smooth face, arms, legs and feet. "It's alright," he said carefully. "I'm not unhappy with you. With him."  
  
Hazel eyes gazed over him and Isengar suspiciously. Gerontius could have sworn his mouth tightened as though angry. "Your youngest."  
  
It was the first sentence of sorts that Frerin had spoken to him. He nodded. "Yes, Isengar is my last child. My twelfth and last!"  
  
Frerin stared, almost sternly, at him. Gerontius supposed he thought what many hobbits thought - _'Fancy him having twelve children!'_ But Frerin's next words surprised him. "I suppose _you_ wouldn't miss one either. I suppose _they_ wouldn't miss each other."  
  
Isengar didn't seem perturbed by this. He knew what his brothers and sisters knew - that Gerontius loved each like they were his only one and that they'd tear apart the Shire if one went missing. "Not quite true, lad. Each of our children were born from love. We wanted them, you know. I'm sure it's the same for Dwarves."  
  
Frerin smiled coldly. "I'm not truly a Dwarf any more. I wasn't wanted by _my_ family. Or I wouldn't be here now."

* * *

  
Her family seemed to like Frerin. Donnamira had quizzed him on just about everything she could think of, Isengar seemed to think him a good friend already, her papa kept filling his ale mug and her mother had given him at least six extra helpings of food. He had been so reluctant to sit until Belladonna had added a cushion to the dining room chair, at which he had sat, with her nod of permission.  
  
It was only her he treated with such fervent respect. He was polite enough to her family, but he seemed to think like a slave.  
  
She knew he would follow her if she stood, and so she gently touched his hand which was more or less the only area he felt comfortable being touched. "I'm tired, Frerin. You can stay up if you like."  
  
"What would you like, Mis-" at her glance, he hastily amended. "Bella."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
He mulled it over and then looked at the plates.  
  
Before he could say anything, her father spoke. "The sneaky cider thief can help with the dishes tonight."  
  
"But there's _thousands!"_ Isengar exclaimed in horror.  
  
"Give you something to remember my rules by, you cheeky bampot! I've half a mind to make you wash, dry and put away the _lot!"_  
  
At this, Isengar's protests vanished like magic.  
  
She stood, rubbing her full stomach. He, too, stood which didn't surprise her. It seemed she would now have a shadow, but he meant only good things, so she smiled wanly and held his hand. "I'll show you to your room, then."  
  
It was one of their six spare bedrooms. This was the largest and nicest with its pale yellow walls, large soft fourposter bed with gold and purple covering, the soft brightly coloured rug before the fireplace and the large window letting in lots of bright light.

Frerin looked around, frowning in confusion. "It's too good for me."  
  
"No, it's not. It's just right. I'm three doors over, if you need me." She took the small agate ring and set it on the bedside table on which stood a candlestick. She said nothing about it, but left, leaving the door slightly ajar. He approached the bed, touching it cautiously. It was soft and warm, but he was uncertain. What if this was a test? A test to see if he tried knew his place?  
  
The bright moonlight irritated his eyes. He had not seen much light, having been sheltered from it for so long in dungeons, windowless rooms and wagons. He crossed over to them and shut the heavy yellow curtains, careful not to rip the thick, but delicate fabric. He was not strong, not truly. He had not been gifted the chance to be so, unlike his siblings, unlike his cousins. He couldn't fight any more. That had been beaten out of him by the time he turned fifty-five. He looked at the rug in front of the crackling fire and lay on it, on his stomach, like always. He turned his face from the flames and felt the warmth wash over him, relaxing his tense muscles, easing his worries. Before he knew it, his eyes were resting and his breath was slow and he slept as deeply as did the Dragon half a world away in what had once been his home.

* * *

He didn't eat very much. Probably full from being fed to bursting by her mother last night. Even so, he still seemed to ask permission, waiting until she finally said, "eat what you'd like, Frerin."  
  
He took some of the fresh poppy seed bread, a boiled egg and a sausage. After he had finished, he watched with a well-hidden trace of amusement as Isengar sneakily stole his father's mushrooms when he thought he wasn't looking.  
  
She didn't know what she was going to do with him. He was so _thin_ that she worried for his health. Ordinarily, she went on "wanders" as her mother called them and "exploring"  as her father did. She called them "journies" and the word filled her with longing to see more of the world, to go West, see the fair folk, have the adventures her father had. She shared this longing with her little brother and the two sometimes discussed it, but sometimes it seemed more like a fairytale for him and reality for her. In five years, she could go. She could do anything, she knew.  
  
An idea suddenly came to her. She owed that Laura Baggins' son a bag of gold. Gods, that was going to be fun, tottering up that old witch's steps with the reason. She really was a witch, she was certain, always going on about how awful it was to have a 'ridiculous' number of children, referring to the twelve Tooks, about how her sons were perfect in each way, though everyone knew that that the youngest Baggins was a nasty little wart who was far too big for his feet and that the others were quiet and withdrawn from being alarmed by their domineering mother. Still, it was not in her nature to leave debts unpaid, so she went back to her room and considered going up to Laura wearing her scruffiest day gown just to see the look on her face. But she knew she'd only get chased from the premises with that broomstick of Laura's, so she took out a more sombre outfit, deep purple velveteen and a lavender surcoat. She braided her hair into two plaits, placed her pearl beads around her neck and went to find Frerin who had been returned his trousers which were fixed up well.  
  
"I was wondering if you might come with me," she said. "Only if you wish. I must visit a friend, but his mother is very unfriendly..."  
  
"If you wish it."  
  
"Do _you_ want to come with me or do something else with yourself?' Belladonna asked him.  
  
Frerin paused and then looked at her with that calculating look in his eyes. "What you wish."  
  
Oh, by the Green Lady, this was going to be hard. "Alright, would you like to come with me?"  
  
He nodded once. She saw no disappointment or relief in his eyes almost like they had forgotten how to feel. She reached out for his hand, not wanting to lose him, and led him the several miles up to where Laura, who was often nicknamed 'that sourfaced auld witch' by Gerontius, lived with her sons and withered husband. It was a warm day, a gentle day with light skies, warm air, bright sun and the smell of summer floating in the breeze. What a lovely day to visit a beloved aunt, not so much a rather nasty neighbour of sorts.  
  
Was he worth it? This debt? She looked at his frail form limping steadfastly beside her and felt a surge of pity for him. Of course he was. Who knew what might have happened to him had she not wanted him? She had rarely felt pity before and it seemed to consume her now. Had he no family? He spoke so little and so unhappily of them when he did. What a terrible thing, to be without family. She squeezed his hand, forgetting clean about the rather grimy bandage that clung determinedly around his finger. He didn't seem to notice. She smiled up at him though he didn't notice that either and rather reluctantly went to the bright yellow door. She knocked twice and stepped back.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Laura Baggins answered. A short, even by hobbit standards, wiry woman with curling, braided iron grey curls and a pair of silver spectacles balanced upon her nose, she seemed a hard woman upon sight and hadn't done a lot to disprove it. She pursed her lips upon seeing her, but forced a smile and invited her in regardless. Then, she noticed Frerin.  
  
Belladonna expected howls, curses, shrieks and refusal to allow him in the smial. Instead, Laura merely nodded and greeted him somewhat politely, if puzzled.  
  
That was a surprise. Bella supposed it helped that he was clean and wearing something that wasn't her mother's old gown.  
  
"Is Master Bungo here?"  
  
Frerin stilled. She squeezed his hand again to try and calm him.  
  
"No, I'm sorry. Was there anything?"  
  
_'Debts arise all the time,'_ Bella told herself mentally. _'Just tell the sourfaced auld witch that you need to repay a loan.'_ "I made a loan of him and wish to repay him."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Frerin shifted beside her and she again squeezed his hand. 'Not long, my friend," she thought to him. "Yes. Do you know where I could find him, please?"  
  
"I'm afraid-" Laura stopped and looked upwards.  
  
She frowned and Belladonna saw she was looking at Frerin who had tears edging down his cheeks. She became aware of a warm wetness over her thumb and looking down, saw her pale hand was now slick with blood.

* * *

  
He hadn't cried in pain in years, but _Mahal_ , had that stung. His Mistress had turned pale and he'd been ushered off to a small bathroom where the stranger had carefully, so gently removed his bandage and looked at his bleeding finger for less than a second before bringing out two bottles, one purple and one blue. She didn't do anything herself, but explained carefully to his Mistress what to do. Blue for cleaning and purple to encourage nail growth. She also brought out a thin length of white silk and carefully wrapped around each finger. _"No_ fiddling," she said sternly. "And you are _not_ to do a _thing_ with your hands until those nails are _completely_ healed. Do you understand?"  
  
Both he and his Mistress nodded meekly. Her hand was still bloodied. He had sullied her with his blood and knew he would be punished severely.

* * *

  
"Frerin, will you wait for me outside, please? I shan't be long, I promise."  
  
He left and the room spun violently. She was hardly unacquainted with blood, but she had made him bleed. She made him cry. She hurt him. And she hadn't even known. Laura held her steady, not saying a word. "He's the reason for my debt to your son," she gasped out. "I was a bag of gold short.. I don't want him as a _slave_. I don't even want him as a _servant_. I want him as a _friend_. I want him to be alright, but how can he _ever_ be alright?"  
  
Laura's arm grasped her around her shaking shoulders. "Shh," she murmured. "He will be in time.."  
  
"You must think I'm mad."  
  
"Sometimes, but that's only to be expected. Oh, look at me, dear. You have a lot of love in your heart to give. You're only a young girl, so it is expected. Be kind to yourself. Forgive your own mistakes, because I can guarantee he has. Neither of us knew he was hurt, dearie."  
  
"He was worth it, you know."  
  
"I know. Kindness is worth a thousand times its weight in gold." Laura gave her the two bottles. "Go on home with him. I'll send Bungo to you."  
  
"Thank you for being so good about it. I'm sorry, I think there's blood on your porch.."  
  
"It'll wash off. Give your hand a scrub and I'll give your friend something to eat."  
  
"You might have to, well, order him.."  
  
Laura pursed her lips, closing her light brown eyes. "Some peoples.."  
  
Belladonna scrubbed both hands with lavender soap and splashed cold water on her hot face. She dried her hands, rubbed her cheeks and forehead and took several deep breaths before following Laura's footsteps.

* * *

That night there was fish for dinner. Trout, to be exact, crisped and cooked in a tasty salted breadcrumb batter with roasted potatoes, green beans, peas, gravy, honeyed parsnips and bread rolls. He nibbled anxiously, even during the delicious dessert of treacle pudding.  
She hadn't yet mentioned his wrongdoing, dirtying her with his filthy blue-blood which had, in a past life, been a thing of pride to him. He knew this meant she was angry and meant to keep him waiting for the punishment. Would she whip him? Cut him? Burn him? Would she make her father take his fill? Maybe she would even rip out all fingernails and toenails too.  
  
She wasn't acting like anything was wrong. She hadn't mentioned it, except when she had showed him how to eat and got her brother to cut up his food for him. If he hadn't known better, he would have even thought she might have cared for his wellbeing, but no one had cared for that in decades.  
Dinner was finished around nine and she offered to take him to the library. In a public area? Very well if his Mistress demanded. He followed her and eyed the roaring fireplace warily. He had been burned many times and had smelled his own scorched flesh, heard it sizzle, but never quite got used to the searing agony.  
Nowadays, he knew better than to beg for mercy, after all, it never came, and so he watched her steadily as she...settled herself into an armchair? He tried not to look puzzled, but wondered why she was not already branding him. Was it a way of a woman to force her slave to wait?  
  
"Frerin?" She held out her arms like a mother coaxing her small child and he numbly stepped over. She took his hands, so gently, and deftly unwrapped his fingers. They looked healthier already, even though it had only been a few hours since the visit to the little old woman who had been so kind to him and fed him about eight slices of apple and blackberry cake. Bella tenderly dabbed first the contents of the purple bottle, then the blue. Carefully, his fingers were wrapped again in new silk and she did something no one had done to him since he was a lad of forty-eight years.  
She kissed each finger delicately. His mother had done just that and he blinked at the familiar, lost feeling of heat in his eyes at the memory. His father never truly cared for a second son, happy with his firstborn and daughter, his siblings had forgotten him, the rest of his kin had forsaken him, but his mother, he knew, loved him dearly, for he had taken after her and had been much closer to her than to _him._ He bowed his head so Bella wouldn't see, but she noticed and, barely refraining herself from making the same mistake, stood and gave him a hug around the middle. "Oh, Frerin. Shh.. It's going to be alright. They'll heal in time, I promise. There, now."  
  
She was smaller than him, only coming up to the middle of his chest, but she felt enveloping and he felt so small that he could barely stop himself from leaning into her. He didn't make much sense though his sobs, but he tried to apologise for everything, for sullying her, for weeping, for making her take care of injuries he barely noticed, himself, but she didn't seem to notice and only held him tighter. One thing she did seem to notice, however, was when he cried for his mother.


	4. Chapter 4

That morning brought a large surprise. His nails were grown halfway up their tender pink beds, clear enough to see the flesh below. He stared in wonder and sat up on the cream rug to flex his fingers, wriggle the digits around to prove to himself that, indeed, the nails were there. Remarkable. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head before going to stand by his mistress' door to await her. After ten minutes, she came out wearing the colour his brother once had worn, though her blue was closer to the soft petals of the tiny flowers growing in the pots outside the front door than the regal dark blue of what had once been his kin. He helped her set the table and she entrusted him with putting the kettle to boil over the crackling fire. Other members of the family joined them, her brother, her sisters, her father and her mother who wasted no time in regaining control of her kitchen.  She put a bowl of fresh, red berries on the table as well as an enormous serving platter of round, sweet pastries cooked up in a pan. Frerin watched his mistress place one on her plate, sprinkle over it with sugar and arrange no less than twelve of the berries around her pastry. He copied her actions and blinked at the contrasting flavours, the berries sharp against the sweetness. He could see why she liked them, though, but restricted himself to only two.

"The raspberries taste good, Mama. And so early in the season, too!"

"We've been blessed this year," his mistress' mother said, though she looked proudly at her husband. "Your father's garden is outdoing itself!"

"I haven't seen to my part of it for a long time," his mistress said. "I suppose I had better see to it before it chooses to wither away!"

"Best hurry, sunbeam." Her father nodded toward the circular window. "See them clouds?"

At this, his mistress wolfed down her breakfast and positively ran to the sink. Unsure of what to do with himself, Frerin did what he normally did and copied her doings before following her out a door which led to a dazzling display of bright green splashed with towering flowers with dark faces and golden petals, pink, red and white flowers with petals curling inwards, bushes with tiny deep pink flowers with purple petals concealed within, and others of so many rainbow hues that Frerin didn't know where to look. His mistress had found a place and was on her knees, tearing ugly leafy plants from the ground. On one of her flowers was a tiny red creature with a red shell spotted with black. He let it find its way onto his palm and held it to his face closely to inspect it. It had white eyes in its black face and tiny black stems growing from its head. It stayed still as though it, too, was inspecting him.

"What have you got there?"

He showed his mistress his new discovery and she made a noise of admiration. "You've found a little ladybird!"

"A lady _bird_ , Mistress?" Frerin repeated, feeling now very puzzled. "But it has no wings."

As if on cue, the tiny animal opened its back and displayed for the briefest of moments a pair of delicate, opaque wings before flying away. His mistress laughed. "No wings, eh?"

"I have never seen such a creature. Is it rare?"

"They're actually rather common." His mistress patted a grassy knoll before her and smiled as he sat down. "Ladybugs are a gardener's best friend. They eat these nasty little bugs called aphids which we hate because they hurt our flowers."

"Amazing."

His mistress parted the grass beside her and brought out a new creature! This one was black and had the same stems from its head as the ladybug. "This is an ant."

"Oh." Frerin peered at it as it twitched the little things on its head. "And it's good?"

"Well...They're sweet and harmless as long as they're out here. Inside the home, it's not so good!" She put the ant on a blade of grass where it scuttled away.

Frerin noticed a long, pink creature. "What's that?"

"That is an earthworm. Our other best friend. They look after the soil for us, but they're quite shy so we don't disturb them if we can help it."

"And this?" Frerin nodded his head toward a fluffy black and orange creature which was waddling along on lots of tiny legs. "Another earthworm?"

His mistress smiled. "No. This is a caterpillar. When it grows up, it'll turn into a butterfly."

"What is a butterfly?" His mistress looked at his knee. On it was sitting a very strange creature indeed. It had wings which were almost pointed on the upper half of its body and the ones on the lower half were rounded. Those wings were a bright sky blue edged with black and its stems were curled over. Its body was long and thin, striped black and white. "That's a butterfly."

"It's such a bright colour." The butterfly started shaking its wings, slapping them noiselessly up and down on Frerin's knee before suddenly going up into the air and flying away just like the ladybird had done.

His mistress looked up at the sky and tore out one last plant before getting to her feet. "The clouds will do the watering for us. Come on, before we get drenched."

* * *

 

When Belladonna got inside, she was confronted by none other than...

"Master Bungo is here to see you." Adamanta said, looking far more pleased than she ought.

Gerontius meanwhile kept catching her eye and mouthing; _'What on earth is this stuffed shirt doing here?'_ until his wife caught him and subtly dragged him out of the sitting room.

Bella had to side with her father. Why, until several days ago, she and Bungo had very little to do with each other. She resisted the urge to cross her arms and ask what it was he wanted and instead watched him quizzically.

"Um.." Bungo began. "I have something I want to give you.."

Belladonna stared. She felt herself flushing all the way to the very tips of her pointed ears. Oh, by the Green Lady if her sisters got hold of what was going on here, she might never live it down. They would twitter on about it being 'so sweet' and 'about time'. She was about to refuse when he handed her a bouquet. And it wasn't small, so it was a given that her mother knew about it which meant her father, brothers and sisters would soon know too. Then she actually looked at it. Acacia, begonia, gloxinia all with their beautifully coloured heads on proud display. The stalks were tied with a ribbon the same blue of the front door and she couldn't help bringing the flowers to her face and breathing in the fragrance of the treasured blooms. "What would your mother think? Her precious son courting a wild Took girl?"

"I'm sure she would be happy for us both." Bungo protested weakly. "I think you're very loving and that's the most important thing to me."

"I'm not sure I'd be the one for you." Belladonna said, though she couldn't bear to loosen her grip on the flowers. "I'm not like you, I'm always walking around, going places. I am my father's daughter, after all."

"There's no other woman I want more than you."

"Your mother will never forgive you if you court me, you realise. And should this go wrong, you will never hear the end of it from her."

"So be it."

"Did you ask my father his permission?"

"Your mother prodded him rather sharply and he said it was fine by him, but you have the final word."

That sounded about right. Belladonna nodded and out of her mouth came words she didn't expect. "I accept."

* * *

"One down, three to go!" Gerontius declared.

"Papa!" Belladonna exclaimed, acting appalled though she'd expected just this reaction. "How could you?"

"Soon, I will be free of all of you children and I shall be a happy hobbit." With that, he drank deeply from his mug and shut his eyes, smiling peacefully.

Adamanta pulled a face, making her daughter giggle. "Oh, that hobbit. Isn't he a nuisance? I vow, it's like I have had thirteen children instead of twelve - and he's the worst of the lot!"

"Thank you, dearest." Gerontius let her take his mug and rested his hands on his belly.

"He's a nice boy," Adamanta said to Belladonna as she swished the mug around in the water. "And he's from a good family even if his mother is a bit, well..."

"A vicious old battleaxe?" Gerontius said helpfully.

"I was going to say 'proper', but I shan't argue with that," her mother said and she went back to the stew. "Call your sisters, dearie."

Grimacing, Bella went to their rooms. Well, she went to Mirabella's room, knowing that Mira and Donna would be sat on Mira's bed, giggling away that their tomboyish big sister had done such a womanly thing as accepting flowers. At least Frerin was with her, so she could set him on them if they were too unbearable. She opened the door, not bothering to knock. "Supper is ready."

At the sight of her, they started screeching with laughter. Belladonna was tempted to roll her eyes, but they would only use it as an excuse to mock her, so she stared at them coolly. "What's funny?"

"Bella's getting married, Bella's getting married!"

She shook her head. "I accepted courtship, not a proposal. Your minds want looking at if you think we're getting married so soon."

"I can't believe someone actually wants to court _you!"_ Mira snickered.

From behind Belladonna, Frerin said. "At least Mistress _has_ a suitor. I don't see yours."

And, just like that, it was Belladonna's turn to laugh uproariously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The one who helped his mistress to buy him - Bungo -  came over the next week, this time with a soft delicate shawl in a pale shade of pink and presented her parents with a bottle of wine that he said was nearly a hundred years old. They behaved as though it was something most precious, but Frerin couldn't see why, even though he tried. Dwarven wine was aged far longer. He remembered something about _eight_ hundred year old wine, though he couldn't remember quite what it was he was remembering. He did, however, have a bad feeling about the memory that wasn't, so he put it out of his mind as best he could.  
Bungo didn't just bring his little mistress and prospective parents-in-law a gift. He brought Frerin something, an amber liquid that he was instructed to rub into his head and on any other parts of his body to kickstart the hair into growing. At first, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It had been so long since his hair had grown that he hadn't thought it could do such a thing any longer. But he tried it and the week after he had received the strange medicine, something incredible happened.

They had been sitting at lunch, eating Adamanta's vegetable soup with fresh bread rolls and ham when Isengar had yelped in surprise.

"Are you burned?" Adamanta asked worriedly, reaching for her youngest son's hand.

"He's getting hair on his face!" By the look on Isengar's own and very hairless face, this was an astounding thing among the hobbitfolk.

Not at first believing him, Frerin picked up his dessert spoon and looked at the back of its bowl. He was so shocked to see the fluff growing from his chin and cheeks that he dropped the spoon into his soup and had to be brought another so he could have his strawberries and cream.

"For pity's sake, child!" Adamanta huffed crossly at Isengar. "He's a Dwarf, one of the Mountain Folk, of _course_ he's got hair on his face! You've seen Dwarves before, have you not?"

"Yes, Mama, but I didn't think he could grow any."

At this, Adamanta gave him a very stern look. "Use the brains you've got in your head and think _before_ you speak one day, my son."

One problem he was facing was that he was gaining weight. Perhaps it was no problem in these parts, but he was growing too big for the borrowed shirts which had always fit, even if they were short and showed his scarred stomach from time to time. It came to a head when he reached for the salt one day and the arm ripped!

"I'm sorry!" Frerin exclaimed. "I didn't mean to, Mistress!"

"Shh, don't worry. Was it too small?"

Frerin nodded and watched as she held the torn fabric between her slender fingers. "I can fix it if you-"

"Don't worry yourself," Gerontius said from the head of the table. It was him who had lent the shirt. "It wasn't a new or particularly expensive shirt, Frerin."

 Several days after that, his little mistress handed him a pile of material in yellows, greens and blues. "Here. Mama made them and I sewed the buttons on."

Frerin placed the shirts on the bed. In recent days, he had grown daring enough to sleep on the bed, though he didn't quite dare to tuck himself under the quilt for fear of sullying it. He picked up the first shirt, which was coloured a soft green and looked at the shining brass buttons, each in the shape of one of the clovers his mistress had shown and explained to him once, and put it on. It was big, maybe a little too spacious, but it felt less restricting and more comfortable. It was long on him too, reaching to the middle of his thighs. "This is truly for me?"

 _"These_ are truly for you." His little mistress patted the pile of clothes. "They wouldn't fit on me or my sisters and certainly not on any other hobbit in the Shire, I would think!"

 "Thank you, Mistress."

His little mistress took his hands gently. "Frerin. Please _don't_ call me 'Mistress'. I don't own you."

"I was bought."

"Because if you hadn't been, you'd still be with those horrible Men. I bought you, yes, but it was so I could help heal you. Call me Bella, or Belladonna if you truly want to keep it formal. You're my equal." She kissed his cheek. "What- What happened to you, Frerin?"

"I don't understand, Mis- Belladonna."

She looked up at him. "How on earth did you become ensnared with those animals?"

She wanted to know his story, one that was written and finished so long ago that he could barely remember it at all. But he was still standing. Maybe it wasn't finished with after all. He rubbed at his chin which was stubbly and thought back. He could remember the story, the names, but he couldn't remember the looks of his kin, except his mother, whose colouring he shared. "I was born the son of a prince," he said quietly. "The last son of Prince Thrain of Erebor, the youngest grandson of Thror the King Under the Mountain. I likely wanted for nothing when I was young, but after my sister was born, our home was attacked by a fire drake -  a dragon." He paused for a moment. "My grandfather was not well. He had a sickness within him, an undying lust for gold and the gold attracted the dragon and sealed Erebor's fate. After my uncles, my cousins, my grandparents, mother, father, brother and sister and I found a home, the lust came back tenfold. There was another Kingdom, Moria..."

"You don't need to tell me any more, if you don't wish to, Frerin." Belladonna told him softly.

"Moria. It was perhaps more valuable even than Erebor, but it held a Balrog within as well as scores of goblins and other evils. And one such evil was.." Frerin whispered the name; "Azog." Even now, the name filled him with fear. "He wanted Moria, what for I don't know, but we had to fight him for it. Him and the goblins. We knew it before we went. My mother begged my father not to let me fight, for I was always the weaker son, but he said that I needed to earn his respect. He said I needed to earn his love and until that day I thought I'd always had it, but he just chose not to show it to me. I was forty-eight, my brother fifty-three and we found ourselves standing in a battlefield. He was fine, he was the strong, brave heir with little fear, but I was the weak, cowardly second son and I got stabbed in my shoulder and knocked over the head. I woke up-" He didn't know if he could go on telling his story to his listener, but he found it helpful to talk, so he took a deep breath and continued. "I awoke under the corpses of the dead, fire beneath me."

Belladonna gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth.

"I forced my way out, but the smoke found its way to my lungs and made me dizzy and weak. I called for my brother, but he didn't come. I knew better than to call my father, I knew he would be ashamed that I had allowed the orcs to kill me. Thorin, my brother, he didn't come but I heard the mourning songs and crawled to them, but they had moved on to the healing tents by the time I had reached them. Luckily, they were still standing, so I tried to make my way over, but I was stopped, found by an orc and...and I was taken to Azog the Defiler, whose arm my brother had sliced from his elbow. He _hurt_ me. He sold me so many times, beat me, had me doing things. He took my strength from me."

"Do you want to try and find your kin? Do you remember where they live?"

"Ered Luin. And, no. They forsook me and left me for dead. They don't miss me, my kin."

Belladonna nodded. "Well. I know we aren't Dwarves, but you have family right here."

Frerin smiled. "That brings joy to me."

* * *

There was a cat who sometimes visited the Took doorstep, nibbling on the scraps Gerontius and Adamanta pretended they didn't leave. Frerin liked to keep him company, usually sitting on the porch and scratching the light orange ears while the cat sat proudly, surveying his kingdom. Belladonna didn't like him. He had once, when she was a small girl, snuck into the smial and left her a rather large rat beside her pillow. It had led to her waking up, screaming loudly and running into her parents' room where she had then spent the remainder of the night. Gerontius thought it was hilarious and always laughed when he was telling the story out of earshot of his wife and daughter. Adamanta, Donnamira and Mirabella were very sympathetic and even her sisters would defend her shock.

"You're a good lad, aren't you?" Frerin said to the cat. "Yes, you are. You didn't mean to frighten Belladonna by leaving that big old mouse on her pillow, did you?" The cat gave a loud meow which Frerin took as an agreement.Among many other things, the cat also brought him joy. The cat balanced himself on Frerin's thigh and then lay down, flicking his tail lazily. It was rather shaded, but the sun gleamed through the branches, bringing warmth that might have proved too much if the spring breeze wasn't bringing cool air every so often. He could see the glittering silver-blue of the nearby river, hear the stream that trickled nearby and smell the lavender from the bushes in the Took's plentiful garden which lay only a few feet away. From the window, he could hear Adamanta singing to herself until voices joined hers, Isengar, Mirabella. Was this what he had missed all these years? But he shook his head at this thought. He had missed things, probably. His baby sister, she was a grown woman now. Maybe his mother and father had grandsons, perhaps his brother had wed. It didn't matter, for that was a family to which he had never belonged and, for the first time ever, he felt as though he had found somewhere he did.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Belladonna kept wandering off with orders to be left alone when she wasn't being invited to dinner or being whisked off to the Green Dragon for a meal or going on a picnic with Bungo who gazed at her with admiration, his plump cheeks blushing whenever she looked at him. Sometimes, her ears went a slight pink and Frerin was amused for it reminded him of his kin who had gazed at their wives in such a way and had, indeed, blushed too. But something was troubling his little mistress and he knew it, he could tell. He didn't dare to ask even though she had never hurt him and kept to himself. It wasn't until the day Belladonna rushed home, grabbed her walking stick and left very abruptly without heeding her mother's calls or even grabbing an apple or handful of blackberries that he decided he would follow her this time.  
She had walked, or rather, sprinted all the way to the riverbank, along its sandy pale shore to the reeds, waded through the water and was curled up in the grass, her dusky green skirts spread out as though they meant to match the grass their owner sat upon. In her hand, she held a ring with a small red rose made from glass.

"Bungo proposed," Belladonna said flatly. Then she looked up at him properly. "I asked you to never follow me."

She wasn't happy, but Frerin was too surprised to be afraid. "I thought you loved him."

"I do."

"So, what troubles you?" Frerin sat on the bank beside her and waited for her to speak again.

"I want...more."

Frerin frowned in confusion. Though his grandfather had been fabulously wealthy at one point, his grandmother had loved him even when they were in the worst of places at their very poorest. He had never thought money had very much to do with love. "Is he not wealthy enough?"

 _"No!"_ Belladonna sounded shocked. "Oh, goodness, no. Oh, Frerin, I don't suppose anyone would understand me. I want more life than just being a housewife with children running around. Mama has done it her whole life and thinks it's the way, but...well, I long to see the _world._ I want an adventurous life. And I always thought I'd have at least one adventure before I got married. But now I am betrothed and Bungo would never go with me. He might call off the engagement if he realises how I think."

"I believe he already knows how you think and loves you for it. And you have never been to the very worst places, but _I_ have. And I can help you avoid them?"

Belladonna's eyes were wide. _"You_ would accompany me?"

"Dwarves are strong, Belladonna."

She looked at the muscles of his arms which were finally growing as they should have done years before. "Aye. I can see that. I'm grateful, but what if he should call off the engagement?"

"Then he would not be worthy of you."

"Do Dwarf-women travel?"

"No." Frerin admitted. "But we always try and make them feel content. I came from a large family by Dwarven standards. Yours must be six times the size. I don't think hobbit-men know how blessed they are with daughters."

Belladonna looked at him. "I don't think Dwarf-men know how blessed they are with _sons."_

Frerin ducked his head. "I suppose not."

Belladonna looked out over the river a final time and squared her tiny shoulders. "Come, then. Let's tell them the news."

* * *

Despite his declarations that he wanted the final four of his children out of his smial as soon as possible, Gerontius looked rather shell-shocked and sat down, suddenly quiet. His youngest son seemed to simply take it in his stride. Adamanta and her two younger daughters however, were positively ecstatic, their mother already making plans for her daughter's wedding.

"Oh my goodness gracious me, my little Bella getting married! We'll have to dust off Grandma Chubb's wedding gown, you know it's a tradition and I got married in it as did your aunts and cousins...I bet that Laura is utterly horrified, isn't she, but never mind the silly woman..."

"Mama-"

"Not now, dearie, we've got to sort this wedding out. It's _finally_ your turn to dip your hand into your pocket, Gerontius Took!" Adamanta lightly swiped her husband's elbow.

"Oh no!" Gerontius cried. _"Why_ did you have to give me _daughters?"_

"It's tradition for the father of the bride to pay for the wedding!" Adamanta reminded him. "And that means _we_ get to organise everything. No lavender at this wedding, no brass wedding rings and absolutely _no_ finger foods!"

"I thought you liked lavender?" Frerin managed to get in.

"In pots outside, yes, but a _wedding,_ really!"

"I'm not getting married just yet." Belladonna said firmly.

There was sudden silence. Adamanta stared at Bella, suddenly speechless. "I _beg_ your pardon, young lady? Bella, you _mustn't_ keep him waiting."

"I can't get married straightaway." Belladonna paused and fiddled with the laces on the front of her dress.

Adamanta's eyes followed her hands. Her blue eyes widened. "No! You.. You're not..?"

"Not what?"

"Tell me you are not having his child!"

"No! Mother, I'm not with child, I just..I'm going to go away. Just for a short while and then I'm going to come back and marry him."

"Go _where?!"_ Adamanta exclaimed. "Oh, Belladonna! I'm at my wits' end! _Why_ must you leave?"

"I want an adventure."

Adamanta looked at Gerointius and then back at Bella. "Poppet, you aren't a child now. You're a young woman about to marry a _very_ respectable young man. Why do you think you can go gallivanting? It's not what nice young girls do!"

 _"I_ give my blessing to you, Bella." Everyone turned to stare at Gerontius who sat in his armchair, fingertips just touching together, a thoughtful look in his pea-green eyes. "It's fine by me."

"Are you _mad?_ Sending our precious daughter into the great wide world with _goblins_ and _orcs_ and heavens knows what-"

"She won't get that far." Gerontius heaved himself out of his chair and made his way to his wife. "How old was I when we wed, Ada?"

"You were forty-one years of age."

"And what was I doing from the ages of around twenty-five to forty-one?"

Adamanta wrinkled her nose. "Well, I'd rather not think. I know she gets her curious streak from you, however!"

Gerontius smiled. He held his wife's hands in his wrinkled ones. "The last fifty years have been incredible. You gave me eight boys and four girls and I'm grateful. I have no regrets thanks to you seeing past the lad who made his mother tear her hair out in fear every night and giving me a chance. I know Bungo Baggins. He'll give our Bella the chance because he cherishes her as much as we do. And if you're worried about the mother, well, she has no say in it. Our daughter is marrying her son, it will bankrupt me, and that's final. The adventure of marriage and family and the adventures of, well, the world are very different. I like _both_ and so does our Bella. She's not as mad as I was, eh?" He brushed a thumb over his wife's cheek. "Come on, petal. She's got a little bit of Chubb in her yet."

"'Four girls'," Adamanta repeated softly and looked at her daughter. _"Promise_ me you'll return home."

 "Of course I will. I'm getting married."

Adamanta brushed her daughter's cheek gently and gave her a smile before disappearing into the kitchen. As the sounds of cooking filled the air, Gerontius went back to his chair and Belladonna returned to her room, followed by her Dwarven shadow. She held open the door and crouched in front of the wall opposite her bed. Frerin looked over at what she was gazing at so intently. Stark against the bright white wall was a blue flower, clumsily drawn.

"I never knew you have three sisters."

"I do. Two are alive."

Frerin was shocked still. He didn't know what to do. "I'm sorry. Were the two of you very close?"

Bella shook her head. "I never knew her. Isengrim barely recalls her and Isumbras was only a babe in arms when she died. Her name was Hildigard and she was born seventeen years before I was." She touched the flower lightly. "Might I tell you about her? Mother can't and neither can Father, really and my brothers won't and I couldn't _possibly_ talk about her with my little sisters."

Frerin almost knew how she felt. Had he a dead older sister, talking about her with his _actual_ little sister would have been unthinkable. He sat with Belladonna on the floor. "Of course."

"She had fair hair, like mine and Mama kept it in pigtails with brightly coloured ribbons. You see, she was most happy to have a daughter." Belladonna smiled. "Hildigard was very sweet, very shy but she was also clever and mischievous and got up to all sorts of tricks. One day, when she was nearly three years old, Mama was busy with Isumbras and Isengard was supposed to be looking after her, but had decided to go scrumping with some friends of his. Hildigard found his crayons and-" Belladonna gestured to the wall. "She was the artist we have to thank for the beautiful flower you see before you."

Frerin chuckled. "She was an excellent artist!"

"Oh, she was!" Belladonna's smile slipped. "It wasn't Mama's fault. She might go on and lecture, but she's never ever truly angry. That day, she discovered that her elder son had disobeyed her and her newborn had colic and kept her awake all night and then she found her daughter had crayoned on the wall. _Ordinarily,_ she would have tsked and scolded and made her help clean it off, but that day, she was very angry and actually lost her temper, shouting and.. and she slapped her on the back of her legs. It was after she'd done it that she stopped being angry and started feeling terribly guilty, but Hildigard cried and ran away. Mama searched for her, but she was found several days later by the river."

"The same place you went today?"

Belladonna nodded. I go there when I'm sad or confused or angry. I pretend she's with me." She glanced at him. "I went there a _lot_ when I found you."

"Your mother is a good woman."

"I know. And I understand she doesn't want to lose another daughter and I won't do that to her. I really shan't be long on this venture. Just a few weeks, maybe a month."

"I think you might have meant _'we'."_ Frerin said gently. "I wouldn't want you out there without me."

Belladonna grinned at him. "It'll be _me_ looking after _you,"_ she said. "Not the other way around!"

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, the idea is this; Azog sells Frerin as a slave a good eighty years later to the highest bidder, who will be a Man, who then sells Frerin on to Belladonna who is absolutely infuriated on Frerin's behalf when she sees what's happened to him. Granted, at this point he's 48, but he'll be in his 129th year when he goes to her, so yeah. The poor Dwarf goes through a lot. But he will live the rest of his life with people who love him, so there's that, if it's any consolation.


End file.
